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I only own the OCs. I don’t own anything else, and I don’t make any money off anything else either. Come to think of it, I don’t make any money off the OCs either. I don’t make any money, period.
Stranded
Captain Jack Sparrow was jammed into a barrel bobbing and rolling in the waves. He felt a mild nausea for a few seconds, then sheer irritation.
Who’s brilliant idea was this? Charlotte. Bloody Charlotte. Charlotte the Harlot. She and Anamaria were probably already sitting in his quarters, drinking his rum and performing unspeakable acts in his bed. He hoped not. He hoped they were doing whatever was necessary to outrun the Interceptor II. They could perform all the unspeakable acts they wanted once they’d done that.
So far he had stayed relatively upright, but the thought of water pouring in through the air holes kept Jack tense. He heard some shouting from the Black Pearl. Evidently Anamaria was being responsible and speeding away as soon as possible. Whether he would ever see his ship again was in some doubt, but Will was somewhere close by and they were likely not going to end up in the hands of Norrington, so all was not doom and gloom.
Jack would end up in the hands of Will Turner, and that made the discomfort a little more bearable.
He couldn’t tell how long he drifted, praying not to overshoot the island.
Commodore Norrington felt very pleased with himself as he approached the Black Pearl. Soon he would have both the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow and that impudent blacksmith Turner in his prison.
The Pearl had signalled them a few minutes before. They were willing to talk, but they had to keep their distance. The two ships now floated a fair distance apart, not close enough to attack but well in sight of each other. Norrington had himself rowed out to meet a delegation from the pirate ship.
He wanted to simply take the ship, but he wanted Sparrow alive even more. The fiendish pirate would not escape the hangman by choosing a glorious death in battle.
And he wanted the chance to truly humiliate Will Turner. He had no idea what had caused such a sudden change of plan on Elizabeth’s part, but he knew the boy had hurt her greatly. Not that he wasn’t pleased with the turn of events. His marriage to the Governor’s daughter was everything he could possibly hope for. Except that he had not been able to properly chastise Turner for causing its delay.
The gentle bobbing was interrupted by a rather sharp impact. The barrel was breaking against a rock. Jack rammed the handle of his sword up against the lid. The loosely nailed cover creaked open on one side and Jack pushed it all the way off, just in time for the barrel to be thrown against an unnecessarily sharp rock.
Pain radiated from Jack’s smashed shoulder as he wormed his way out of the tight barrel, up onto the rock. He’d landed close enough to the island, only 50 yards or so from a craggy shore, but he had drifted somewhat past the beach. He picked his way over jagged rocks, wading or swimming the odd few yards between outcroppings, until he reached a narrow strip of pebbled land at the foot of a twenty-foot drop. The beach was to his left, more rocks to the right. He scanned in both directions, trying to figure out where Will was most likely to be.
Along the rocks he saw a broken crate with some canvas and rope spilling out, threatening to be washed to sea. By the beach he could see a couple of barrels on shore, and a few more items making their way to the sand. He looked back at the rapidly disintegrating crate.
What he really wanted to do was find Will immediately. But he knew his practical young lover would be furious if he allowed these very useful items to float back out to sea. He dragged the heavy canvas up onto the land and secured it under a few rocks. It was unlikely to get away now.
Next he made his way along the narrow strip to the beach. Sharp edges of rock caught on his torn shirt, ripping at his injured shoulder and threatening to push him back into the ocean. He wondered if this was all part of Charlotte’s brilliant plan. The sun was setting by the time he staggered onto the beach. In the dim light he could make out a half dozen barrels but no Will.
The boat approaching was rowed by a grizzled old man with a parrot on his shoulder and contained not one, but two women. One faced away from Norrington, but something about her voluminous red hair seemed familiar. The other faced him, with a look of fierce determination on her handsome face. This was a ruthless killer, he could see it in the set of her shoulders and the way her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. He would not want to meet her in battle.
Still, they were a pathetic lot of pirates. Their ship was a disgrace. He even thought he’d seen them throwing ballast off the Black Pearl to lighten their load. A waste of good merchandise. He would have easily caught up to them, regardless.
“Stay alert, Gillette,” He warned. There was some trickery afoot, but he was bound to honour the temporary truce.
“You have no reason to be bothering us, so just turn around and go home, Commodore,” the woman shouted as they drew near. “We’re a peaceful cargo vessel.”
Norrington laughed. “There’s nothing peaceful about Captain Jack Sparrow, and the only cargo you haul is the stolen property of others. I see no reason to carry this truce any further, it is farcical enough without your lies. Give me Captain Sparrow and maybe I’ll let you go in peace.”
Anamaria laughed now. “Let us go in peace, and we won’t have to test your new ship by sinking it to the bottom of the ocean.”
“Not without Sparrow!”
“I don’t have him, so neither can you. He left our ship a day out of Port Royal, bound for Tortuga.”
Norrington scoffed. “You expect me to believe your captain just left his ship in your command?”
Anamaria shrugged. “I don’t care what you believe. He’s not on my ship. And it is my ship now, so I would advise you to let us go.”
Charlotte turned around in the boat to get a better look at the argument. “Norrie?”
“Charlotte?”
“Norrie? Oh my goodness, what the devil are you doing out here? Don’t you look nice in your Commodore’s hat and that uniform! Why, I haven’t seen you in ages, since the night before your wedding it was. Guess the wife is working out well then, eh?” Charlotte smiled sweetly, and Anamaria couldn’t help noticing how her girlfriend pushed out her breasts a little and batted her eyes at the Commodore.
Anamaria growled. Her girlfriend was good, a little too good.
Norrington blanched. “I, um, I swear to you, Gillette, I have no idea who this, this strumpet is!”
Gillette made a face halfway between distaste and jealousy. “Well, I believe sir, her name is Charlotte. At least, that’s what you said.”
Anamaria wasn’t sure if Norrington would try to blow Charlotte, the rowboat and the Black Pearl out of the water in an attempt to erase all evidence. Or he might be more inclined to let the Pearl go to avoid further embarrassment.
As it turned out, Charlotte was quite a skilled negotiator, and was able to convince the Commodore that Jack and Will had indeed abandoned ship in favour of a vessel headed for Tortuga, that the Black Pearl was now a legitimate trading vessel under the command of Anamaria, and probably could have convinced him that the sun was shining brightly when in fact it was dusk if not for Gillette, who interrupted his commander while Charlotte was describing in great detail the size and shape of the sails of the ship Jack and Will had rowed out to.
“Sir, there’s a storm coming. If we’re to make it back to our boat dry I suggest we leave now. They already have a two-day head start for Tortuga.” Gillette obviously wanted to be as far away from the women as possible.
Charlotte winked at Gillette and wriggled so her prominent breasts rose a tad higher out of her tight bodice. Rewarding him for being such a good audience.
Anamaria growled again. She was torn between being thankful for Charlotte’s quick tongue and enraged at her generous body.
Never mind. Once the Interceptor II sailed off for Tortuga, she would take her girlfriend into the captain’s quarters and teach her something about proper behaviour. And quick tongues.
Jack strode to the first barrel and pried the lid off with the edge of his sword. A selection of slightly soggy hardtack, dried meat and other foods, wrapped in bits of cheesecloth and rags, sprang out. He would be eating, even if the crew on the Black Pearl weren’t. But that wasn’t what he was looking for.
The next barrel had contained rum at one time but was, sadly, now empty.
A crate of women’s clothing. There were some interesting possibilities, it was true, but again, not what he was looking for.
Jack was by this time running from barrel to barrel, ripping the boards apart in a desperate search for Will. He sprinted 50 yards across the sand to a broken shell, the last barrel he could see. Empty again, the staves broken and splintered from the impact with rocks off shore.
He searched the beach twice more and was began to despair.
He scanned the water for other debris, but the light from the moon wasn’t enough to see far by. The dark shapes of the barrels he’d already ripped apart lay abandoned around him on the white sand.
The thought ripped through his mind that the barrel containing Will had drifted too far from the shore and was out there, on the now almost black sea. The further thought, even more grotesque, had a barrel stuffed with Will sinking to the bottom of the…
“Will!” he shouted. “Answer me!”
He heard only the crash of the waves on the beach.
Next: Chapter 22 Still Stranded
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